alexxroux
He sat at the bar staring into his drink. It was a rusty brown, clear and acidic. He had seen this exact scenario in a hundred films, drinking away troubles. He felt out of place in his suit and fancy tie, but this was the cliche for his particular situation. As he stared into the drink, he recalled the last time he'd had alcohol. Champagne. It was New Years, and they had toasted to a prosperous new horizon ahead of them. The time before that had been the night after his wedding, they had toasted to love and magic and the sparkle in each other's eyes. He supposed that in an alternate reality he would have been drinking champagne right now. In a reality where he had come home as the proud shareholder in the next big thing. Instead he came home with the news that they were penniless and future-less. He stared back into his drink before taking a large gulp. There was nothing left to toast.
Tastes sweet. Like sugar, she replied. It was just one kiss. Before supper. You wait until after, she said, if you want dessert.
Average. I've tried so hard to be anything but. I lie to make myself seem different, I try so hard to be memorable. I don't want to be average. I don't want to be forgotten. And as I'm lying here on my bedroom floor, I realize, I am just like every other over-emotional confused gay teenager. I've become average. Unmemorable. Me.
Rawr. Halloween was last night. I woke up near 10, still in a bit of a dizzy state from the frenzy the night before. I still had in my vampire fangs, still wore my barber-cape-turned-Dracula-cloak. Still was surrounded by the boxes of scary movies and empty candy wrappers. The proof of a life well-spent, I thought with a chuckle. A dark chuckle, to remain in character, of course. Rawr.
Sailboats. Freedom. They go where they wish, driven by the wind. I have a box of ashes. I toss them, when the going gets bad. Where the winds blow them, I follow. I'm like a sailboat. Lost. Freedom is never what one truly desires. Never what I truly desire. I desire home. But I am free. And I am lost. And like a sailboat, I don't know who I am.
It had been weeks since the accident. I sat curled in the corner. 27 days to the day. My mom entered the room and took one look at me. "You look as if you'd seen a ghost!" My eyes widened as I looked up at her. Time couldn't erase what I'd seen.
Whiskers. it's amazing, I watched my cat yesterday. He feels with them, judges whether or not he can make that jump, crawl under that sofa. He's so cute. So oddly, roughly cute. So daring, so strange, so full of spirit, so cute.
Octopus. Octopi. Octopuses. I stared at my blank exam. How was I supposed to remember how to pluralize it, and when was I ever going to use this? I let out a sigh, more audibly than intended. "Psst" I looked up at the boy next to me who gave me a smile and mouthed the syllable "-es" I smiled back.
I took my seat and looked nervously out the window. "I'm afraid of flying" I admitted to the middle-aged woman to my right. I giggled to hide my nerves. She replied curtly. "Did you know, 1 in every 5 airplanes crashes?" I turned a faded shade of green and clenched the armrest.
I hugged myself close in the soft fabric of his sweater. I pressed my nose to it and inhaled. It smelled of vanilla just like him. I couldn't stop the smile crossing my face. Quietly I tiptoed back to the bed and slipped between the sheets and nestled close to him. I was keeping this sweater, whether he wanted me to or not.
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